


Not Leaving

by Pookaseraph



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, don't read this to make it all better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pookaseraph/pseuds/Pookaseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fallout of Harvey and Donna's decisions keep coming, and Mike doesn't have the words, he can only be there. </p><p>Spoilers for Break Point (2.05)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> No seriously, spoilers for Break Point, doesn't make sense if you haven't watched.

Mike didn't move from his spot, holding stock-still at the elevator bank of Pearson Hardman, for what felt like hours. For the second time in his life he lost track of time, unable to subconsciously track it by the beating of his heart, his breathing, or the unheard music that sometimes ran through his head. Rachel was no longer standing beside him - he wasn't even certain he'd noticed her leave; he knew she was... if not a gossip, at least prone to the occasional nosing around looking for office dirt, so Mike made his way around the floor to her office. She was sitting at her desk, typing, ignoring him studiously as he came to stand in her door.

The impulse was a surprisingly ingrained one, in spite of its newness: protect Harvey.

"About today..." He could have meant any number of things.

Rachel nodded. "My lips are sealed."

"Thanks."

His next stop was no farther away, yet seemed to take much longer. Mike's feet and head and heart felt heavy, but he still somehow arrived at Harvey's door with nothing in his hands to even pretend he had a reason to be here other than checking on his boss. Even broken, Harvey cut an impressive figure; he didn't stand quite so tall, his back not quite so straight, but he somehow looked in command of the New York skyline outside of his office. Strains of jazz wafted through the door, melancholy and similarly broken.

Mike entered without knocking.

Whether or not Harvey noticed, Mike couldn't tell; he continued to look out the window. Mike continued to stand in the middle of the office, poised between offering comfort and doing nothing.

The song ended, the few moment's of silence couldn't hide the ragged inhalation as Harvey fought down the urge to sob.

Mike took the few strides it took to reach Harvey's side in a heartbeat, coming to rest with his shoulder only a few scant inches from Harvey's. He risked a glance, saw Harvey looking at him, eyes begging for... something. Harvey hadn't been crying, but his eyes were wet and red all the same, the struggle not to cry just as damaging as doing so openly; they looked back out over the skyline.

A thousand words ran through Mike's mind, but none of them settled into something he might be able to say. He could have talked about his win in court, but it had been won on the back of a lie, and the stone under his own feet had similarly turned to sand. There were no comforting words, Mike was the fraud, the liar, the chink in Harvey's armor, the weakness in the whole _firm's_ armor, not Donna. Donna protected him.

_'Harvey loves this office, but for you he was willing to give it up.'_

Mike was still here, Donna was still gone, and Mike couldn't help but think Harvey had made this huge, huge mistake in that. Harvey didn't need to hear he'd made one more mistake, though. Just making one - the wrong one - brought him to his knees.

"Mike."

His name was somehow like a knife to the gut, deep and cutting, and it twisted as it struck, all from the way Harvey said that one simple syllable. Mike couldn't speak, he just... looked back up at Harvey and those huge brown eyes were looking over at him again and Mike felt his stomach twist again. They turned, this time towards Harvey's couch, Mike only a half-step behind Harvey, and they sat in unison, so close their knees nearly touched.

Harvey... Harvey was ravaged, Mike could see it over every inch and every line. Harvey was bent at the waist, relying heavily on his elbows resting on his thighs to even stay sitting rather than collapse. One more string, one more cut thread and Mike thought he might find Harvey crumpled on the floor. Mike understood rock bottom, and he was terrified by the possibility that Harvey hadn't hit it yet. He owed Harvey _everything_ but he had no idea how to put his hand out and pull Harvey back from this brink, so he just reached out, pressed his palm flat on Harvey's knee, and let it rest there.

The change was audible, palpable, and for a moment Mike thought that whatever fine thread was still holding Harvey up had been severed, and Harvey actually started to cry. He didn't know when the hand on Harvey's knee became an arm around his shoulder, didn't know how long it took for Harvey to curl slightly into Mike, leaving their heads bowed together, but when Harvey finally moved again the record had long since finished, leaving only the sound of the LP reaching the end of its track and skipping back slightly to play the same dead air again.

"Let's get you a cab." Harvey shook his head. "Ray?"

Despite his protests, Mike shut down the player, re-sleeved the vinyl, and walked Harvey to the elevators. Mike pressed the call button, but didn't miss the downturn of Harvey's lips as he did so. They rode down in silence, stood out on the street curb without saying anything, Harvey's hand in the air to hail whatever cab next passed. Mike unlocked his bike. The movements were all familiar, they had done them all a hundred times before, in each other's presence, apart, but a thick tension clouded it tonight.

Harvey didn't slide easily into the cab when it pulled up, he stayed fingers gripping into the door of the car so hard his knuckles were white. Mike wheeled his bike to the back of the cab, gave the trunk a little tap and the cabbie popped it open. A few seconds later he had his bike stripped of its wheels and tucked neatly into the trunk before climbing in.

"Where to?"

Harvey didn't answer; Mike gave the man Harvey's address.

Time floated between yesterday and tomorrow as he and Harvey rode the elevator up to Harvey's penthouse, Mike fumbling awkwardly with his bike, looking anywhere but Harvey, Harvey looking anywhere but Mike, eyes still red but no longer crying. There wasn't exactly a bike stand in the condo, but Mike left it propped neatly against the least expensive looking wall, nowhere near the art. He gave the saddle an awkward little pat, before he looked up at Harvey.

Harvey grabbed him, wrapped his arms so tight around him that he couldn't breathe, and Mike took Harvey's shoulders into his own arms, and they stayed like that.

"I'm not leaving."

Nothing was solved, nothing was _fixed_ nothing was closed or taken care of, but Harvey may have lost so much today, but Mike was going to be the one thing he never, ever lost.


End file.
